"Hi, Mom."
Ben's voice carried across the empty street as he spotted the familiar figure huddled beneath a flickering streetlight, her slight frame seeming even more fragile in the harsh urban landscape.
"Ben?" May's voice cracked with a mixture of surprise and overwhelming relief. Her grey hair caught the light as she hurried toward him, her work-worn hands reaching out to grasp his wrist as if to confirm he was really there.
The years had been hard on May Parker. Supporting a family on her limited income meant taking whatever work she could find—washing dishes, cleaning offices, the kind of backbreaking labor that paid barely enough to keep food on the table. Her hands bore the calluses and chemical burns of countless shifts, but she'd never once complained about the sacrifices required to raise two boys who weren't biologically hers.
"How did you know to come?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.
Because I was worried, Ben thought but didn't say. Because in this universe, tragedy follows Spider-Man like a shadow, and I refuse to let it claim anyone else I love.
He'd learned enough about the multiverse to understand that certain events seemed to transcend individual timelines—cosmic constants that reasserted themselves regardless of specific circumstances. Ben, Sr.'s death was one such fixed point, but Ben had discovered that preventing one tragedy often triggered others. The web of fate was remarkably resilient.
That's why he'd reminded Peter about picking up May, and why he'd spent the evening monitoring police frequencies for any signs of trouble. His paranoia had been justified—Peter had indeed forgotten his promise, leaving May stranded in one of New York's more dangerous neighborhoods.
Ben felt a surge of irritation at his cousin's thoughtlessness, but quickly suppressed it. Getting angry wouldn't help the situation.
"Peter went to Oscorp to see Dr. Connors," Ben said carefully, offering a version of the truth that wouldn't worry her further. "He couldn't make it, so I came instead."
The mention of Dr. Connors made May's expression tighten with barely concealed anxiety. She knew about Curt Connors's connection to Richard and Mary Parker, just as she knew that Peter's recent obsession with his parents' abandoned research was driving an invisible wedge between them.
May had found the suitcase in their basement storage, had seen the way Peter's eyes lit up when he discovered his father's hidden files. Part of her was happy that he was finally learning about his heritage, but a larger part was terrified of where that knowledge might lead him.
She'd raised both boys as her own sons from the moment they'd entered her life, pouring every ounce of love and devotion into giving them the stable home they deserved. But Peter's recent behavior—the secretiveness, the dangerous curiosity about his parents' work—made her wonder if that was enough.
Maybe Peter didn't see her and Ben as their real family. Maybe they were just temporary guardians until something better came along.
The thought was like a knife in her chest.
Richard and Mary Parker had vanished without explanation, leaving behind only questions and a traumatized child. Despite multiple police reports and years of searching, no trace of them had ever been found. May and Ben had done their best to fill that void, but they could never replace what had been lost.
Now she was terrified that Peter would follow the same path—disappearing into danger while chasing answers to questions that might be better left unasked.
"Don't worry, Mom," Ben said gently, slipping his arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. "Peter's just overwhelmed by finally having access to information about his parents. It's natural for him to be curious after all these years."
May nodded, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she squeezed Ben's hand with desperate intensity, as if letting go might cause him to vanish like smoke.
She wanted to ask if Ben ever thought about finding his own biological parents, if he ever felt the same burning need for answers that was consuming Peter. But the words stuck in her throat, weighted down by fear of the response.
She had no legal right to keep either boy if they chose to leave. They weren't her biological children, and if they decided their futures lay elsewhere, she would have to let them go. The thought of losing either of them—or both—was almost unbearable.
"Let's get home," Ben said firmly, maintaining his protective embrace. "I'm starving!"
Together, they walked through the darkened streets of Queens, their footsteps echoing in the relative quiet of the residential neighborhood. The familiar weight of Ben's presence beside her helped calm May's racing thoughts, his steady confidence an anchor in her sea of worry.
When they reached the Parker house, Ben, Sr. was waiting by the front door, his expression tense with barely controlled anxiety. The sight of Ben and May approaching together clearly surprised him—he'd obviously been expecting Peter.
"Ben? May?" Ben. Sr's voice carried a note of confusion. "Where's Peter?"
"Peter had to see Dr. Connors about something," Ben repeated, maintaining the fiction for consistency. "He asked me to pick up Mom instead."
Ben, Sr. 's weathered face creased with understanding that went deeper than Ben's simple explanation. The older man's eyes held a complexity of emotions—gratitude, concern, and a recognition that Ben was protecting Peter from potential consequences.
Throughout their lives together, both boys had proven themselves responsible and caring, but Ben had always displayed a maturity beyond his years. There were times when Ben, Sr. felt that Ben's presence in their family was nothing short of miraculous—a gift from providence when they'd needed it most.
"Thank you," Ben, Sr. said simply, his voice rough with emotion.
"It's nothing," Ben replied with genuine conviction. "This is what family does. You can count on me for anything like this in the future."
"I'd like to take you up on that," Ben, Sr. said with a tired smile, "but you left for school so early this morning that I barely saw you." He placed a heavy hand on Ben's shoulder, the gesture conveying years of accumulated affection and pride. "Go ahead and take May inside. I'll wait out here for Peter."
"It's getting cold," Ben protested, gently attempting to guide Ben, Sr. toward the door. "You should wait inside where it's warm."
But Ben, Sr. remained immovable, his expression gentle but resolute. "No, I think it's better if I wait here. Peter and I need to have a conversation."
Despite Ben's enhanced strength—which could easily have lifted Ben. Sr, off his feet—something about the older man's determination made him impossible to budge. It wasn't physical resistance; it was the moral weight of parental responsibility.
Ben knew exactly what his dad was planning. The conversation would be about responsibility, about family obligations, about Peter's recent behavior and the dangers of obsessing over the past. And Ben knew that Peter, high on new powers and consumed with questions about his parents, would react badly.
The argument that followed would drive Peter from the house in anger, creating the exact circumstances that had led to his dad death in other timelines. Even though Dennis Carradine was no longer a threat, Ben couldn't shake the feeling that fate would find another way to claim its intended victim.
The Sandman, perhaps. Or some other criminal drawn by the cosmic need to maintain narrative balance.
Every instinct screamed at Ben to prevent the confrontation entirely, to find some way to defuse the situation before it could explode. But he also understood that some conversations couldn't be avoided indefinitely. Peter's behavior was becoming increasingly reckless, and Dad's concerns were entirely justified.
"Alright," Ben said finally, accepting the inevitable. "But if it gets too heated, call for me."
He guided May toward the house, feeling the weight of impending tragedy like a physical presence.
"I'm worried about what's going to happen," May whispered as they crossed the threshold, her intuition picking up on the tension even without Ben's advance knowledge.
"It'll be okay," Ben assured her, though his confidence was somewhat forced. "Maybe we should start dinner. They'll probably both be hungry after... after they talk things through."
May managed a weak smile at his diplomatic phrasing. "You're right—neither of you boys would ever really fight with us. Not seriously."
She spoke with the conviction of someone trying to convince herself as much as her companion, but her actions betrayed her anxiety as she headed directly for the kitchen.
"Exactly," Ben agreed, following her. "And if Peter does get out of line, I'll remind him how to behave properly."
"No fighting in this house," May said automatically, opening the refrigerator with practiced efficiency. "What would you like for dinner?"
"Something substantial," Ben replied, settling into his usual chair at the kitchen table. "Fried chicken, pork chops, whatever's easiest. I'm so hungry I could eat an entire cow."
The statement wasn't hyperbole. Ben's spider abilities were still developing, his body undergoing constant biological refinement that required massive caloric intake to sustain. The process was more dramatic than typical adolescent growth spurts, demanding nutritional resources that sometimes left him feeling perpetually famished.
Interestingly, his alien transformations didn't seem to tax his human physiology—those changes drew energy directly from the Omnitrix's power reserves rather than his biological systems.
Just then, the sound of footsteps approached the front door, followed by the unmistakable jingle of keys.